


Don't Leave

by wallashoom



Category: South Park
Genre: Not sure if this counts as graphic depictions of violence but oh well, One Shot, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallashoom/pseuds/wallashoom
Summary: No one saw past his sleeves. Not Token. Not Clyde. Not even Tweek.
Kudos: 18





	Don't Leave

He felt confined. He only went to school on Monday, making him only see him friends once. He didn’t even get to walk home with Tweek, who had left school early that day. The day after was the last day before break and he stayed home, having a headache and sore throat that morning. It was only the first day of break when he realized how lonely he was. It made him feel awful. All the insecurities, all the irrational fears, every little mistake he’s ever made in life come resurfacing. 

He realized just how important his friends were to him. Just as he realizes this, his beliefs that his friends hate him appear once more. Feelings of being a disappointment control his mind and he can’t help but let the liquid pour out of his eyes. It was rare to see him cry. To express any emotion really; the only people who saw him express himself was Tweek and his closest of closest friends like Clyde and Token. Contrary to others beliefs, he actually can’t count the number of times he’s cried on one hand. 

No one saw past his sleeves. Not Token. Not Clyde. Not even Tweek. No one knows about this side of him, except for maybe his mother. He was thankful for his mother. His mother agreed to not tell his father. He never wanted anyone to know, yet at the same time, he wanted to scream to the world “I need help!”

As he sits on his bed, his arm begins to feel numb. The wounds from a few days ago sting. He never actually went for the wrist, at least not where the vein was visible. He forgot how a razor blade felt. When the school year began, he started using the scissors that his mother bought him that were supposed to be for school. But one day in the shower he just needed to do it and the razor was the next best thing as he had recalled a scar from three years prior still barely being visible on his thigh. Razors scarred. Scissors not as well. That’s what he gathered.

Though scissors were less painful and they caused more blood, at least for him, the razor scarred and hurt more. That’s what he wanted. He wanted pain. He deserved it, right? For being a waste of an existence. Everybody in the house was asleep, or at least he thought. He could hear the quiet audio of Tricia’s phone through the wall, but it’s not like she’d come barging into his room at this hour. 

He had snuck one of his razors into his room. It was in a crate under his bed. No one would check under there. Clyde used to think that he had some sort of magazines under there, but once he came out as gay and started dating Tweek, Clyde stopped looking for those obscene articles. Token never had a reason, plus Token never really went to his house. Tweek… Tweek had his suspicions. Whenever Tweek would come over, he would always eye the sharp things. 

He hid the razor under the bed because he knew Tweek would never look under the bed due to his paranoia. 

Of course he cleaned the razor, he wouldn’t leave blood on it… though he liked the look of it. Maybe it was because if someone did ever find it, they would know and they could help him not do what he does.

He stared out the window. The one thing that could calm his nerves: the stars. He couldn’t explain it. It was just so peaceful. So quiet. Non-chaotic. The complete opposite of South Park. So much like him. Boring.

He winced. Boring. Maybe that’s why no one liked him. He wasn’t funny; just a complete asshat who was always negative. 

Closing his eyes, he wiped a few stray tears and left his bed. He kneeled down and grabbed the blue box full of legos. The legos were originally for Tweek to use to calm his nerves, but Stripe almost choked on one so Tweek insisted that he lock the legos away for Stripe’s sake. Since this box had something that wasn’t supposed to be used, why not put the razor in it? Quietly, he opened the crate to reveal a red colored razor. He carefully reached in and was meticulous to not nudge a single lego in fear that someone would hear. Once the small razor was safely in his hands, he stood up and sat on his bed. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal cuts that were already there. He was trying to make the marks inside of his arm, this way it would be less obvious if his sleeve was ever up. 

The blade of the razor touched the top of his skin. He sucked in air and braced himself for the pain. Just before he was about to apply the pressure, he heard Stripe squeak. The little creature had been sleeping mere moments ago. Somehow, the guinea pig knew when his owner was in distress. He stared at the guinea pig as the beady black eyes stared right back at him. The animal’s eyes begged the boy not to do it. Not again. 

He just turned away. He had to do this. It felt wrong if he didn’t.

Hell, it felt wrong if he did do it. 

The desperate squeaks started to annoy him. He had to go somewhere where he couldn’t hear his pet anymore. Being careful, he left the comfort of his dark room. Now standing in the middle of the hall filled him with a sense of panic. Quickly, he made his way into the bathroom. 

Staring at himself in the mirror, he realized how awful he looked. He wasn’t wearing his signature chullo hat, his hair was disheveled, his eyes were dark, there were bags under his eyes, and his expression seemed more dead than usual. 

He couldn’t hear the squeaks anymore. He breathed. Holding the razor up to his arm, and applied a little bit of pressure. He started pressing down harder and angling the razor just right to make the deeper cuts. He hissed every time the blade went across his skin. His breath hitched as tears started swelling again. 

Every little cut was a release. He smiled as tears fell harder. Maybe the smile was fake. Maybe it was real. Who knows at this point?

The blood poured down his arms and into the sink. The water burned against the new wounds. That was the bad thing about using a razor. When the cuts are run under water, they sting like a thousand bees. Any movements hurts, but at least it serves as a reminder of what he’s done. He felt guilty. But that happens every time. 

He washed his face and stopped the minimum bleeding that occurred. The boy exhaled and looked up into the bathroom mirror. He put a wet handprint on the mirror, letting the water droplets run down the glass. He removed his hand and stared at himself.

“I’m Craig Tucker, and I hate myself.”


End file.
